


Excuses

by shinysylver



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sex, F/M, First Time, Sibling Incest, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinysylver/pseuds/shinysylver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his mom dies, Steve is lonely. Too lonely to turn down the comfort Mary offers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Excuses

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Hawaii Five-0.
> 
> So...yeah...I wrote this. I blame [](http://somehowunbroken.livejournal.com/profile)[**somehowunbroken**](http://somehowunbroken.livejournal.com/) for turning me on to the angsty, twisted appeal of this pairing. There is just something about it that sparks the muses. Although I should probably also thank her for cheerleading.

The first time it happened they were drunk. There was no other way it could have happened, because if he’d been sober Steve would have stopped it. If his head hadn’t been swimming from too much whiskey and not enough food, he never would have let her kiss him and he certainly wouldn’t have kissed her back. And, most importantly, if he hadn’t been so damn lost he would never have let it go further.

It had happened the weekend after their mother died. Steve had spent the entire week making arrangements because his father was too focused on his work to take the time to bury his wife. Steve hated him for that. He hated his father for leaving _him_ to take care of everything in those first few days, showing more concern for the cop who’d made the notification than for his own children who’d had to hear it.

Steve was only sixteen years old, barely old enough to drive and certainly not old enough to do things like decide on coffins, but he didn’t have a choice. Someone had to be responsible. He wasn’t sure how to choose but, in the end, he’d gone with the cherry veneer—even though it was more expensive—because his mom had always loved cherry wood furniture. Besides, he wasn’t the one paying and if his father had a problem with the price, well, he should have picked it out himself.

In addition to planning the funeral, he was also trying to be there for Mary. She was only a freshman, way too young to try to deal with this by herself but he didn’t know how to help her. Instead he was stuck watching helplessly as she went out every night doing heaven knew what with her friends. If he’d had just a little more time he would have followed her and brought her home but as it was all he could do was watch as she stumbled in late reeking of alcohol. He wanted to stop her but he didn’t have the heart to fight with her. Not now.

Somehow, despite it all, he managed to hold himself together all week but by the time the funeral was done and the last of the guests had left, Steve was feeling brittle. His father had left early to head to the station and he had no idea where Mary was. He was once again all alone and barely keeping everything together. But if he didn’t who would?

In order to avoid thinking, Steve tried to focus on what had to be done and he was just finishing cleaning up after the guests when Mary came home. It was earlier than usual and even though her eyes were red rimmed he could tell it was from tears and not alcohol for a change.

“Hey,” she said quietly, stopping in the doorway. She held a brown paper bag out. “I got this for us.”

Steve frowned as he watched her take a bottle of Jack Daniels out of the bag. He didn’t even want to know how she’d gotten it. “Mary, that’s not a good idea.”

“It’s the best idea,” she insisted. “Come on Steve. Mom’s dead and dad’s gone. You’ve been running around all week. Don’t you just want to forget for a while?”

Steve stared at the bottle. He did want to forget. He wanted to forget that he would never hear his mother’s laugh again. He wanted to forget the night that the cop had knocked on their door. Damn it, he wanted to forget everything. But he knew he shouldn’t. He tore his eyes away from the bottle and shook his head.

“I don’t get it,” Mary said as she walked into the room and slammed the bottle on the counter. She opened it with a quick twist and took a swig, grimacing as she swallowed. “Don’t you even care? I didn’t think you would want to be alone tonight, but maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.”

“You don’t think I care?” Steve asked incredulously. He could feel his tenuous hold on his emotions beginning to crumble. Mary always seemed to strip away his control without even trying. “What the hell? If I didn’t care do you think I would have done all this? Planned a damn funeral? If I didn’t care I would have told Dad that you come home wasted every night. Damn it, Mary of course I care.”

“Hey,” Mary said taking a step closer to him and reaching out to cautiously lay a hand on his arm. “Steve, I’m sorry I don’t want to fight. Not tonight. I just thought, that for once, you might want to let go.”

Steve relaxed at the sincerity in her voice. He glanced back at the bottle of whiskey. He’d been drunk once before, at Cindy Wilson’s homecoming party, and it had been a nice feeling. He’d felt so loose and happy, happy enough that he’d spent the whole night laughing.

Making up his mind he grabbed the bottle and took a deep drink. It burned on the way down, which made him cough and sputter much to Mary’s amusement.

“Not much of a drinker huh?” she laughed. She took the bottle from him. “Come on, let’s go upstairs just in case dad grows a pair and actually comes home.”

“Not likely,” Steve muttered. “And Mary, don’t ever talk about dad’s ‘pair’ again.”

“You’re such a prude,” she replied as she headed up the stairs and into Steve’s room. She flopped down onto the bed, bunched a pillow behind her back, and leaned against the headboard.

Steve sat down next to her and grabbed the bottle. He took another sip, this time ready for the burn. “Besides, dad’s a lot of things but he’s not a coward.”

“Of course he is,” Mary replied as she took the bottle. “He’s too chickenshit to face us or this house. He always said I looked like mom and now that she’s gone he won’t even look at me. He’s a coward. You’re the only man in this house.”

Steve didn’t know if it was the whiskey or the compliment, but he felt a warm tingle spread through him at her words.

“Anyway,” Mary continued, passing him the bottle. “Thanks. Thanks for all the shit you do around here.”

“Are you already drunk?” Steve asked suspiciously. “Because I know my little sister did not just thank me.”

Mary grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him. “Teach me to compliment you. I won’t make that mistake again.” She straightened up and pulled her shirt tight, showing off the curve of her breasts. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not so little any more.”

“I don’t want to see that! I’m your brother for heaven’s sake!” Steve exclaimed, but despite his words, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her breasts until she finally let go of her shirt to grab the whiskey bottle.

“Whatever,” she said rolling her eyes and taking a drink.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, only broken by the occasional remembrance of their mother or story from their childhood. It was nice to be with someone instead of utterly alone like he’d been all week and after a while Steve lost track of how much he’d drunk as they continued to pass the bottle between them. He’d barely eaten anything at the memorial so it wasn’t long before his entire body was pleasantly numb and his head was swimming.

“Do you remember that?” Mary asked. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, leaning toward him, and swaying slightly which made it hard for him to focus on her.

“What?” he slurred. “Remember what?”

“When I used to get all those Tiger Beat magazines and put posters up on the wall?” she said with a laugh. Her laugh was so open and unguarded. Pure in a way it hadn’t been in longer than he could remember.

“I like your laugh,” he said smiling at her. “You never laugh like that anymore.”

“There’s not much to laugh about,” she said, suddenly serious.

His own smile dropped. “No there really isn’t.”

“Damn it, Steve!” she whispered as she crawled closer to him. “I’m so fucking lonely all the time. Aren’t you?”

He knew that she had asked him a question but he was finding it hard to focus because, as she crawled toward him, he could see down her shirt…and she wasn’t wearing a bra. Somewhere in the back of his head he knew that he should look away, that it was wrong to feel his dick beginning to stir with interest, but he couldn’t stop himself. And perhaps most disturbingly he didn’t know if he wanted too.

Apparently, Mary noticed because she suddenly smirked. “Like what you see?”

Steve jerked his eyes up to her face. “I don’t know—“

“It’s okay,” she interrupted. “So do I.”

Before he knew what was happening, she had thrown her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. He sat there in shock for a moment, barely breathing, before his instincts took over and he returned her kiss, pulling her close.

The rest of the night passed in an alcohol tinged blur of caresses and moans. He refused to think about what they were doing, focusing instead on the way her arms felt wrapped around him and how complete he felt as he entered her. In that moment he didn’t feel like he was alone and, for the first time since his mother died, he felt like another human being cared about him.

Unfortunately that feeling didn’t last and when Steve woke up the next morning, in bed with Mary, their legs tangled together, he was horrified. The night before the whiskey had clouded his brain, giving him all the excuses he needed, but now in the light of day he was panicking. He lay perfectly still, not sure what he should do. Should he leave so that she wouldn’t have to see him? Or was that the coward’s way out? Should he stay here and make sure that she was okay?

He closed his eyes, feeling nauseated. There was no way that she was okay. He was disgusted at himself for taking advantage of his little sister. He’d let his own grief and loneliness override everything else. How could he do that?

“Stop it,” Mary murmured, startling him out of his thoughts. “Stop beating yourself up. It was as much my fault as yours.”

“Mary…” Steve started, but stopped unsure of what to say.

“Neither of us were virgins and I’m on the pill,” she said as she slowly got up and began to gather her clothes. “It’s really not that big a deal.”

“Yes it is,” Steve said. He tried not to watch as she got dressed but couldn’t stop himself from stealing a few quick glimpses. “It really is.”

She turned to look at him. “It doesn’t have to be. Besides, what’s done is done.” She shrugged. “Try not to beat yourself up over it.”

Steve watched as she left his room, softly closing the door behind her. She was right. What’s done was done. He just had to make sure that it never happened again. No matter how nice it felt to be close to someone, to be with someone who understood him.

Over the next week, Steve really did try to fall back into the once familiar role of Mary’s older brother, but before long the loneliness and his responsibilities became overwhelming, and right when he was about to break Mary came home with another bottle of Jack Daniels. She stood in the doorway to his room silently holding it out to him and he succumbed.

Steve reached out and took the bottle, knowing exactly what she was offering. He knew that the first time they’d slept together had only been because they were both drunk, but that this time they were going to get drunk as an excuse to sleep together. He knew that he would feel guilty about it later but, at the moment, he just didn’t care.


End file.
